


you know my name

by kaydeefalls



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together, Light Angst, Offscreen Violence, POV Female Character, POV Quynh | Noriko, The Old Guard Femslash Fortnight, look it's a 007 au what do you want from me, love language: unusual gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 09:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: "Don't let the double-ohs bully, browbeat, or seduce you into giving them special privileges," Copley did warn her, once.(James Bond AU; Andy is 007, Quỳnh is Q, and she can't work out why Agent 007 keeps bringing her elaborate gifts. She can't possibly want an exploding penthatbadly.)
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 34
Kudos: 92
Collections: The Old Guard Femslash Fortnight





	you know my name

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely no knowledge of the James Bond movies required. In brief: they all work for British secret intelligence (MI-6), M is the boss, the double-oh agents are sexy super-spies, Q is the person who provides them with tech, weapons, and ridiculous gadgets. There, you're all caught up.
> 
> Title stolen from the theme for "Casino Royale". M is not really a character in this fic, but let's assume she's still the Judi Dench version.
> 
> Content warnings for brief descriptions of injuries (nothing graphic), and a culturally insensitive remark made in passing by an antagonistic character.

"Don't let the double-ohs bully, browbeat, or seduce you into giving them special privileges," Copley did warn her, once, just after Quỳnh accepted the role of Quartermaster. At the time, she'd laughed it off. She'd been a field agent herself prior to her unconventional promotion, and though she knew the double-ohs were a law unto themselves, she's hardly one to be easily intimidated.

Not that they don't try. It doesn't help that she's the first female Q in the history of MI-6, an agency that had entered the 21st century kicking, screaming, and still clinging to its imperialist fantasies. It had perhaps more than its fair share of misogynist dinosaurs still roaming the halls, unable to accept their imminent extinction.

002 is by far the worst; he has no concept of personal space and enjoys terrorizing Quỳnh's underlings. When he tried the same with her, she actually spit in his face. After that, Copley, as M's chief of staff, made sure to run interference between 002 and Q-branch as a whole. Quỳnh still refuses to outfit that agent personally for missions. She's sorely tempted to build him a personalized handgun that will misfire eight rounds out of ten, but regrettably, killing operatives by proxy is generally frowned upon.

The others are less obnoxious about it, but, well, double-ohs aren't exactly selected for their meekness. Fortunately, Quỳnh considers herself mostly immune to their charms. Her favorite agent at the moment is 006, a melancholic fellow who seldom smiles but is unfailingly polite to Quỳnh's staff. He still rarely manages to return any of their equipment intact, but usually gifts them expensive wine or local delicacies from wherever he'd been by way of apology. Quỳnh appreciates a good Bordeaux.

And then there's Agent 007.

"Hello, Q," 007 purrs just behind Quỳnh's ear, and she very nearly stabs the agent with her screwdriver out of sheer panicked reflex.

"One of these days," Quỳnh hisses venomously, "I am going to have you fitted with a microchip that triggers a warning siren whenever you step within fifty metres of Q-branch."

007 gives her trademark cool smile, an upward curve of her lips that never quite reaches her translucent green eyes. "I could wear a collar and bell, if you like."

Quỳnh very much does _not_ consider the mental image of that pale, slender neck in a dark leather collar. "Is there something I can do for you, Agent?"

007 lifts one perfect eyebrow. "I have a name, you know."

"As do I, but I don't see how that's relevant to this discussion." The name in 007's file is Andromache Scythia, an awkward mouthful rarely used on missions on account of its being far too memorable. To her marks, she's usually Anne or Andrea. Quỳnh's own name is redacted from all official documents; the identity of MI-6's Quartermaster is essentially a state secret. Like M, the head of MI-6, she goes exclusively by her letter designation now. "I assume you're not here just to quibble over semantics."

"But no one quibbles quite like you, Q," 007 says, far too pleased with herself for the alliteration. "All right, don't give me that look. I'm leaving for Surabaya in the morning; please tell me you have something more interesting for me than a gun and a radio this time."

Quỳnh frowns. "Surabaya? I thought that was Booker's mission."

"It is, but M decided he needs backup, and Book and I have always played well together." It never bodes well when an op requires more than one double-oh; Quỳnh makes a mental note to monitor the Surabaya mission personally, just in case. Before she can remark on it, though, 007 goes on: "So 006 gets to be _Booker_ , does he?"

"006 brings me classy gifts to replace the equipment he destroys," Quỳnh informs her. "You just bring me grief."

007's eyes glitter in a very worrisome manner. "You prefer to be wooed, then? I can do that."

"You can return your gear in one piece, for a change." Quỳnh stalks away from her workbench to the arms cabinet, sorting through it with brusque efficiency. "Here. Gun. Radio. Prove to me you can actually take care of what I give you, and then we'll see about anything more _interesting_."

Of course, it's not just any old gun or radio. Quỳnh's been working on this batch special; the Walther's grip is keyed specifically to 007's palm-print, so that no one else can turn her own weapon against her, and the radio is waterproof, powerful enough to find its frequency up to a thousand meters underground, and virtually unhackable. Quỳnh's top priority as Quartermaster is to keep her agents alive by any means necessary, and she's fucking good at it.

007 accepts both with no sign of disappointment. "Always a pleasure, Q."

* * *

The Surabaya mission goes smoothly enough; sure, Booker catches a live grenade at one point and only just manages to fling it back at his assailant in time to avoid blowing himself up, but that's par for the course with the double-ohs. 007 is practically superfluous, but she doesn't seem to mind playing second fiddle for a change. Ego is always an issue with special agents, but 007 is the rare sort who is so supremely confident in her own self-worth that she genuinely feels no need to prove it to anyone else. Quỳnh thinks she's an excellent example of why more women should be promoted to double-oh status.

Although Quỳnh's not sure how many more of them she, personally, could handle.

"What the fuck is this?" she demands, upon arriving to Q-branch one morning to discover an laughably enormous bouquet of red flowers covering the entirety of her favorite workbench. No roses, thankfully; she can identify amaryllis, zinnia, and columbines along with about five other types of blossoms, all eye-popping shades of red or dark orange.

None of her minions will fess up, though she knows that at least one of them must have assisted somehow. They would have had to sign for the delivery, if nothing else.

When 007 slinks into Q-branch a few hours later, wearing a suit exquisitely tailored to emphasize the long lines of her slender body, she smirks at the infestation now festooned across several other workbenches in retaliation. "I told you I could woo."

"Flowers? Really?" Quỳnh narrows her eyes. "That's shockingly unoriginal of you."

"Not a traditionalist, then?" 007 remarks. "Duly noted. It was worth a shot. But red _is_ your color." Her gaze flickers down the length of Quỳnh's body.

Quỳnh does a double-take on herself when she realizes that she is, in fact, wearing a ruby-toned blouse today. She rolls her eyes in an attempt to cover it. "Flowers wilt and die," she says flatly. "I prefer signs of affection to be slightly more durable. Though given your file, these will still likely last longer than any of your previous...entanglements."

007 just laughs. "You know those are business, not personal, Q. Seduction is generally more effective than bullets when it comes to extracting information. I just lie back and think of England."

Quỳnh's sure her face is now a shade of pink that clashes terribly with all those ridiculous flowers. "Whatever you say. Was there something you actually needed, apart from transforming Q-branch into the botanical gardens?"

007 smiles smugly and returns both her gun and radio in pristine condition. Not a scratch on them. "You did promise me something more interesting next time, if I took good care of them."

"I said _we'll see_ ," Quỳnh retorts, admittedly still in shock. "And we will. See. I suppose."

"Then I'll leave you to it," 007 says. Her pale eyes gleam. "Q."

"Agent."

* * *

Agent 009 supplants Booker as her new favorite when he topples a certain arms dealer's enterprise and brings her home some _very_ shiny new weapons prototypes. Apparently Dobrynin had been looking to expand his operation; Quỳnh's not sorry he won't have the chance, especially since it landed such deadly treasures in her lab. One is the ungodly spawn of a crossbow and a rocket launcher, and Quỳnh loves it _so much_.

"Oh, to have a beautiful woman coo over _me_ like that," 009 sighs.

Quỳnh pats his cheek distractedly, still entranced with the prototype. "You seemed to have had a very nice time with Dobrynin's mistress."

He grins, teeth flashing against his dark brown skin. "I did indeed, Q, thanks for the reminder."

"And thank _you_ for this beauty, Lykon, I very much appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"Wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands, after all."

"Or the right ones," a new voice puts in drily. Quỳnh spares a glance from her new toy to see 007 lounging against the doorway. Her eyes look particularly green today. " _Lykon_ gets a name too, now?"

Quỳnh cuddles the crossbow-rocket-launcher protectively. "Lykon definitely earned it."

Lykon sticks his tongue out at 007 as he departs. She smacks his backside in retaliation, making him yelp.

"Play nice," Quỳnh chides. "He's my new favorite."

007 just sighs, much put-upon.

Three days later, extremely illegally-acquired blueprints for Mossad's latest nanotech appear on Quỳnh's workbench. Gift-wrapped. With a big red flourish of a bow.

If Quỳnh's knees go a little weak when she unrolls the specs, well, there's no one around to notice.

* * *

The thing is, Quỳnh knows that 007 doesn't _mean_ anything by it.

Flirtation is standard operating procedure for the double-ohs, that's all. 007 is hardly the only one to work her wiles on various members of Q-branch. She's not even the most charming of the lot. Lykon has actually bedded at least two of Quỳnh's underlings and is laying the groundwork for a third; the only other female agent, 003, won't play with the geeks but does have most of M's personal staff wrapped around her little finger, much to Copley's continuing chagrin. The only double-oh who doesn't wield seduction as an active weapon is Booker, but Quỳnh has seen him use his sad white boy routine in the field on at least four separate occasions, and it somehow works every damn time.

So 007 is neither the most charismatic nor the most aggressive flirt among Her Majesty's secret service. But she's the only one who has fixated on their Quartermaster, and Quỳnh hasn't the faintest idea what she's supposed to _do_ about it.

* * *

002 plumbs new depths on Quỳnh's shit list during his mission in Tianjin, during which he manages to imply that 1. Quỳnh doesn't know anything about fieldwork, 2. she should be fluent in all dialects of Mandarin due to her "heritage," and 3. she is utterly useless to him as a handler on this op for the above reasons.

Quỳnh is not anyone's fucking _handler_ , which is good because if she _were_ 002's, his body would soon be found floating in the Bohai Sea.

"He is never setting foot in Q-branch again, and if you ever give me the comm for another one of his missions, I will direct him straight into a nest of baddies and let him fight his own fucking way out," she informs Copley, seething.

Copley pinches the bridge of his nose. "Believe me, M will be having words with him when he reports back in."

"He should have been sacked years ago," Quỳnh snaps. "I don't care how efficient he is at murdering people."

"He is, unfortunately, _extremely_ efficient at it, though," Copley says with a grimace. "And shows remarkable discretion as to when it is or is not necessary, which is more than I can say for most of the double-ohs. Statistically speaking, he's our second most effective agent, after Andromache."

"Numbers don't tell the full story," Quỳnh says flatly. "He's a fucking disgrace."

"He's a...relic of a different time."

"He's barely forty, you can't possibly be making _that_ excuse—"

"Look, I find the man nearly as abhorrent as you," Copley says. "And M was livid when she listened to the recording. He's on thin ice, I promise you that. But we don't just _sack_ double-oh agents for being assholes. We would hardly have a double-oh program left if we did."

"We'd still have 009."

Copley cracks a smile, just barely. "Impressive as Lykon is, we need rather more than one, I think. Do you really never refer to any of them by name?"

"They get names once they've proven to me they deserve them," Quỳnh says airily. "Though I'm considering an exception for 002. I rather like _Shitstain_ for him."

"Amen to that," Copley sighs. "Speaking of troublesome agents, I've been meaning to ask. Has Andromache been causing Q-branch any difficulties lately? I overheard a few of your employees, ah, gossiping about certain...gifts."

Earlier this week, Quỳnh had mentioned offhand that her department tended to log the most overtime of all MI-6, since there was always an op of some kind in progress somewhere that needed monitoring and agents needing outfitting, so they rarely had the chance to pop out for a meal. Two days ago, 007 surprised them all with a fully catered three-course lunch from a Michelin-rated restaurant. The duck, in particular, had been exquisite.

"Ah, no, not at all," Quỳnh tells Copley, doing her best to keep her tone level despite the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks. "No difficulties."

"Because we do have workplace harassment regulations—"

"No!" Quỳnh blurts out. "It's nothing like that. And I would handle it if it were."

Copley lifts an eyebrow. "As you say."

* * *

"What _is_ this?" Quỳnh demands, the next time 007 "just happens" to swing by Q-branch.

Butter wouldn't melt in 007's mouth. "A puzzle box. I thought you might enjoy cracking a different sort of code."

"Yes, obviously I know _that_ ," Quỳnh says, as scathingly as she can manage. It's a very beautiful and ornate puzzle box, actually, and she's quite looking forward to giving it a go, but that's not the point. "I mean— _this_! Whatever it is you're doing! Do you really want an exploding pen that badly?"

007 tilts her head consideringly. "Hmm. That seems a bit overkill, but I wouldn't say no to one with poison—"

"Andromache! I'm serious! What on earth are you after?"

It takes a few beats longer than it ought to, but Quỳnh realizes her slip when a smile curves at the corners of 007's lips. It's...quite a lovely smile, actually. It almost appears genuine. "You know, my friends call me Andy."

"What _friends_ ," Quỳnh mutters, but she's lost this round and she knows it. Andy just gives her a wink and saunters out.

_007._ Not _Andy_. Dammit. And she still never answered Quỳnh's question, except for how she...sort of did.

* * *

Everything goes to shit a few weeks later during another two-agent mission, this time in an industrial zone just outside of Athens. Quỳnh is manning the comms personally, as is her habit whenever more than one double-oh is involved in an op; the fact that Andy is once again providing backup has nothing to do with it.

"Target acquired," Lykon says over the comm. "He's approaching the compound from the southwest, accompanied by three additional vehicles, all black Cadillac Escalades. I'm on him."

On one of her many computer monitors, Quỳnh watches the dot labeled 009 move swiftly toward the structure in question. Her trackers are _excellent_. She has the compound's blueprints available on a second monitor and full biographical info on the target and his criminal enterprise on a third. This man has ties to the shadow organization known as Spectre; they're hoping to bring him in alive.

The second dot on her monitor is labeled 007; that one remains at rest, some thirty meters out from the main entrance. Quỳnh is fairly certain that Andy is perched atop an idle construction crane. "Copy that," Andy says. "Watch your back."

Lykon laughs, sounding a little breathless from running. "That's your job, Andromache!"

He goes radio silent once he enters the compound; Quỳnh just finished cracking their CCTV system, and starts feeding the video from their security control room to her own monitors. It's not a terribly comprehensive camera network, unfortunately. She thinks baddies ought to be better prepared. No wonder their target is on the outs with Spectre at the moment.

"Hey, Q?" Andy says, far too casually. "Out of curiosity, what's Keane's current status?"

Quỳnh frowns. "Agent 002? He's still on mandatory leave after his cock-up in Tianjin, I don't track off-duty agents. Why?"

"Interesting. Because he just stepped out of one of those extraneous Escalades."

Quỳnh's blood turns to ice in her veins. She's already stabbing the emergency code to summon Copley even as she watches 007's dot abandon her post and move rapidly toward the compound. God _damn_ it, why does this fucking base not have any cameras pointed at its sodding entrance?

Everything happens far too quickly as she barks out orders to her techs, trying to contain the situation as best they can. She can hear gunfire over the comms, like firecrackers popping in the distance; Lykon continues tracking the target inexorably down a corridor and then out of sight, slipping into one of the many damnable blind spots within the compound; Copley arrives breathless in Q-branch demanding information. In the end, though, what can they do from over two thousand kilometers away? It's Andromache's game now, and formidable though she is, she's only one agent, and 002 holds all the cards.

Not 002 anymore, Quỳnh thinks distantly. Just Keane now. Funny way to earn a name, by going rogue so spectacularly.

They don't bring in the target alive. Lykon takes three bullets to the chest and stomach trying to save the bastard from Keane's assassination attempt, of all the stupidly noble things, intent on preserving a valuable source of intel for MI-6. Andy kills all but three of the mercenaries who turned on him; Keane makes good his escape. And then Quỳnh has to listen to Lykon slowly bleed out on the concrete floor while Andy does her best to staunch the wound and keep him conscious, until the medevac Copley ordered finally arrives to fly both agents away.

* * *

Five hours later, Andy finds Quỳnh sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hallway just outside of Medical, waiting for updates. Andy's cleaned up a little, washed the blood off her hands; someone bandaged her own bullet wound to the arm. Just a graze, Andy had insisted. Nothing to worry about.

Quỳnh worries enough for all of them.

"Hey," Andy says. Her voice sounds like it's scraping out of her throat; by Quỳnh's calculation, she's been on active duty for nearly thirty straight hours now. "Any news?"

"He's still in surgery," Quỳnh says, staring out at the blank white wall opposite her. "Will be for quite some time, probably. The gut wound was bad, and one of the bullets might have clipped his spinal cord."

Andy exhales sharply, like she's been punched. "Oh, shit. _Fuck_."

"Lykon was the youngest agent in half a century, did you know?" Quỳnh continues, twisting her hands in her lap. "Made double-oh status at twenty-three, recruited straight out of the SIS. Who the hell willingly signs their own death warrant at twenty-three?"

"That's not what we do," Andy says quietly. She drops down beside Quỳnh, regarding her somberly with those sea-glass eyes. "That's not _why_ we do it."

Quỳnh scoffs. "Mandatory retirement age for double-oh agents is forty-five. Do you know what percentage of double-ohs survive to collect that retirement? Roughly 12%. Just over one in ten." She shifts on the uncomfortable tile, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Of course, that doesn't factor in the handful who defect or voluntarily resign, but their survival rate is nearly as bad; roughly three-quarters of those are dead within five years of leaving the service. You'd have a better shot at surviving most forms of cancer. Something for Keane to look forward to, at least," she adds venomously.

"I know," Andy says, and Quỳnh can't handle the compassion in her tone. "We all do. They show us the statistics before we're permitted to sign the contract. We're all here because we think it's worth it."

"No, you're all adrenaline junkies and inveterate gamblers who believe you'll be the one to beat the odds. Booker's only got three years to go, he's gotten the closest of anyone in about a decade." She can't bring herself to meet Andy's eyes. "You're not too far behind him."

"I've got a few good years in me yet," Andy says wryly. "And I _do_ intend to beat the odds. More than that, I intend to change them."

Quỳnh swallows hard, flicking a glance over just for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"No man is an island." Andy's tone is low and pensive. "We're so often treated like loose cannons, just point us at trouble and light the fuse, but we can do so much better than that. That's why I've been pushing for more doubling up on missions lately; I don't mind playing second fiddle if it increases our success rates."

"You want to, what, turn the double-oh program into some kind of commando squad?"

"Not quite. But we each have our unique talents; we can be much more strategically deployed in small groups than constantly flying solo with only the occasional field agent as backup. If Lykon had been alone out there today as originally planned…"

Quỳnh shudders, hugging her knees more tightly. "I know."

After a moment, she can feel Andy's hand on her shoulder, strong and sure. "This is why you always call us by our designations, isn't it?" Andy asks gently. "Because if we have names…"

"It means you're _people_ ," Quỳnh whispers. "It means I have to care what happens to you. It means the statistics—"

"Q," Andy says, "I am not a statistic, nor am I bound by them. Numbers don't tell the full story."

Quỳnh makes a horrible, muffled noise in the back of her throat, and then she's pressing her face up to Andy's and kissing her.

Andy doesn't even hesitate, just cups Quỳnh's face in her palm and kisses her back, setting a slow, steady pace. It calms Quỳnh, somehow; gentles her, blunts some of the jagged edges that had threatened to rip her apart from within. After a few soft minutes, Quỳnh drops her forehead to Andy's shoulder and weeps silently. Andy wraps her arms around Quỳnh and presses her lips to the top of Qunyh's head, holding her through it. If Quỳnh feels a few tears seep into her own hair, she doesn't intend to mention it.

Eventually, they both fall still and quiet. Quỳnh lifts her head to press a kiss to Andy's soft cheek. "Thank you, Andy. I guess I needed that."

"Me, too," Andy tells her, eyes warm with promise. "Can I convince you to go home for a bit? Just to sleep," she adds hastily. "But you know Medical will notify you immediately as soon as there's anything to report, and M's going to debrief all of us in a few hours. We need our Quartermaster in top form."

Quỳnh considers it, but shakes her head. "Not worth the effort when we'll need to be back so soon. There's a couch in Q-branch, it won't be the first time I've kipped there for a bit."

"Big enough for two?" Andy asks, and if she were anyone else—if she weren't a double-oh agent—Quỳnh might almost have described her as _shy_.

She can feel the smile tugging at her own lips, faint but genuine. "I think we can manage it."

They do. Tucked into the warm curve of Andy's arms, her face pressed into the crook of Andy's neck, Quỳnh finds herself dropping off more quickly than she would have thought possible. Just before she drifts into sleep, though, she somehow musters the energy to murmur, "My name is Quỳnh, you know."

Andy presses a sweet kiss to her forehead. "Well, _now_ I do. Quỳnh."

* * *

The debrief with M and Copley is excruciating but fair. Nearly all of MI-6 find themselves dragged into Copley's office for questioning over the next week; the defection of a double-oh agent is certainly not to be taken lightly. Eventually, his associates within the agency are identified and purged. There are far fewer of them than Quỳnh had feared, and nary a one from Q-branch, thank goodness. Keane had been a bit of a lone wolf. In the meantime, he seems to have vanished into Spectre's warm embrace, which is worrying but only lights a fire under the rest of them. They have so much work yet to do.

Lykon survives surgery and is expected to make a strong recovery for the most part, but will likely never regain full use of his legs. There's no question but that he'll be removed permanently from active duty. Quỳnh spends several days assiduously preparing her case before approaching Copley.

"I want Lykon in Q-branch," she informs him, after striding into his office without an appointment. She's only one of three department heads in MI-6 with the clout to get away with it, and she uses that power very judiciously. "He's always had a good head for tech, and we need more personnel with actual field experience to develop and test the prototypes—"

"Done," Copley says mildly. "Once Medical clears him, he's all yours."

Quỳnh just blinks at him for a few long moments. "Oh. That was easier than I expected."

"He already suggested it himself, and there's no way I'm setting an agent of his expertise adrift," Copley points out. "That would be a criminal waste of resources. Also, Andromache would kill me in my sleep." He tilts his head, eyebrow lifting. "Incidentally, you two do realize there are HR forms you ought to fill out if you're finally embarking upon a personal relationship."

Quỳnh beats a hasty retreat.

(She also does build Andy her poison pen, as well as a delicate pair of eardrops that dissolve in alcohol to explosive effect. Incidentally, all of the rumors about 007's sexual prowess are true; if anything, they underrated her.)

* * *

Andy stops by Q-branch as per usual late one evening, while Quỳnh is taking advantage of the quiet to review the two new personnel files on her desk. "Ah," Andy says, nodding down at the open dossiers. "So you've been informed."

Quỳnh hums agreement. "Well, we did effectively lose two double-oh agents in one fell swoop; I suppose it makes sense that M would want to replace them as soon as possible. Still, two newbies at once…"

"It's not unprecedented," Andy points out.

"No, just unusual. And either of them would have been my first new agent since starting as Q, so it's a banner event for me regardless." She smiles crookedly up into Andy's eyes. "It will be weird calling either of them _009_ , though, after Lykon. And I'll try my best not to let the old 002 bias me against the new one."

"You could always just learn their names instead," Andy teases. "Joe and Nicky. Easy enough."

Quỳnh waves a dismissive hand. "Don't you go coddling them already, Andromache. They have to earn the right to their own names like everyone else."

Andy grins, stepping in closer to bracket Quỳnh with her own body. "And will they ever earn the right to _yours_ , Q?"

"I certainly hope not," Quỳnh breathes against Andy's lips. "That's reserved for special circumstances only."

"Oh, I'm a _circumstance_ now, am I?"

"Mmm." Quỳnh kisses her softly, then more deeply, with intent. "You, my dear, are an experience all your own."

**Author's Note:**

> There is a distinct possibility that I will continue faffing about in this 'verse in the future.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://kaydeefalls.tumblr.com/), if that's your thing.


End file.
